


What do I do with you, now that you're here?

by thewolvescalledmehome



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blizzards & Snowstorms, F/M, Fluff, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, lil bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-12-26 08:23:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12055068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewolvescalledmehome/pseuds/thewolvescalledmehome
Summary: Sansa's driving home for the holidays but doesn't realize that there's a blizzard coming. She's forced to stop in Winter Town, forty minutes from home, and of course Winter Town is too small for a hotel of any sort. She's forced to try the doors of shops on the main street and is surprised to find the owner of the used book store forgot to lock up.





	What do I do with you, now that you're here?

**Author's Note:**

> For the Jonsa-Creatives photo prompt (used bookstore). Prompt #2.

Sansa didn’t see the weather update until she was already on her way north. When she left the Riverlands it was still a mild, early winter. It was cold, but not enough to snow.

It wasn’t until she passed the Neck, through Moat Calian, that the weather alert sounded on her phone.

She was heading towards a blizzard, probably the worst one in the last twenty years.

Sansa hoped to beat it. She was too far north to stop anywhere—Moat Calian was the last town big enough to have anything resembling a hotel until she reached Winterfell.

The clouds grew darker and sank lower the closer she got to home, and she prayed to the old gods that they waited at least until she was in Winterfell to open. If she at least got to her hometown, her dad could pick her up in the truck.

Sansa wasn’t that lucky though.

The flurries started when she was still two hours away, falling fast and sticking to everything.

If she’d been in a different car, she would’ve stepped on the gas, but she’d never driven this car in the snow before and the last thing she wanted was to spin out still two hours away, in the worst storm in two decades.

She continued through the storm, moving slowly with the wipers going as full speed, lights on bright. In good conditions, she would’ve been only a little over an hour from home, but with this storm it would take her much longer.

Sansa kept going though, hoping to push through, hoping there was a break, hoping it was moving towards the south and it would clear up soon.

It wasn’t until she hit Winter Town, only forty minutes from home, that she realized there was no way she’d be able to make it home until after the storm passed.

The only problem was that Winter Town had a main street and not much else.

She pulled over half way down the street, unable to see enough to go any farther. She thought it looked like they had gotten the weather update far before she did, because the town was closed up—shop lights off, not a soul in sight, even though it was only seven pm on a Friday.

Sansa threw the car in park, grabbing for her phone to see if the blizzard was nearly over.

According to the radar, she was just at the start of the storm and both Winter Town and Winterfell were under a severe winter storm warning for the next twelve hours.

She knew she couldn’t sit in her car and wait it out—it would get far too cold and twelve hours was too long to leave the car idling—she’d have to find someplace to hole up for the night.

Pulling her hood tight around her face and shouldering her bag, Sansa threw herself out of the car, bracing against the winds, running for the closest shop door. It was locked of course, but Sansa continued down the street, hoping someone had forgotten to lock up.

The shop on the corner, a weird, triangular shaped shop, was the last one Sansa told herself she would try before retreating to her car and calling her dad.

To her utter shock, it was open.

Sansa entered quickly, shutting the door firmly behind her. She dropped her bag, but didn’t move far beyond the entranceway.

Books were everywhere. There were shelves full of them, in addition to the teetering piles that balanced on top of the shelves, on the floor, on the edges of the stairs off to the side. Sansa had never seen so many books in her life.

“Hello?” she called out tentatively, taking a step towards the stairs.

* * *

Jon couldn’t understand why Ghost was scratching at the door. Ghost only ever wanted to go down to the shop when there were people in it—he’d never wanted to go down when it was empty before.

Jon opened the door anyway, trying to reason that it was just the storm making Ghost antsy. Plus, he couldn’t remember if he’d locked up or not, and he might as well go check.

Ghost bounded down the stairs, nearly knocking over several stacks of books with his tail. Jon followed slowly behind, adjusting the books Ghost had moved.

Jon stopped before he reached the bottom though, pausing in the shadows.

“Oh, hi there. Aren’t you a cute puppy?” he heard. He would’ve thought someone had broken in if it hadn’t been a blizzard out, and if the voice hadn’t sounded so sweet and friendly.

Jon edged around slowly, lifting the thickest hardcover book he could reach, just in case.

“Where’s your owner, hmm?” the voice asked. Jon realized the voice sounded vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t place where he knew it from.

It wasn’t until he rounded the corner that he remembered where he heard that voice before.

 _You’ve got to be shitting me,_ he thought, seeing that telltale red hair. He suddenly regretted the few beers he’d had already.

She must’ve heard him approach because she started to stand, hands leaving Ghost’s fur.

“I’m sorry for breaking in,” she began, still looking at Ghost. “I was driving through and the storm just got…” she trailed off, meeting his eyes for the first time. “Oh, shit.”

He was surprised that she remembered him. He was also impressed at how quickly she pushed her face into a tense but friendly smile.

“Jon. Hi. It’s been a while.” He snorted. _Try six years._

“What are you doing here, Sansa?”

“I was on my way to Winterfell for the holidays. I didn’t know about the storm.”

“Okay, but what are you doing _here_? In my bookshop?”

“ _Your_ booksh—” she started, but quickly stopped herself. “The door was unlocked,” she admitted quietly. Jon saw one of her hands drift down to Ghost’s head and he wanted to call Ghost over to him, but he didn’t. He didn’t want to resort to her level. Jon settled for crossing his arms, glaring at her.

Their roles had switched and he had all the power now.

“I’m sorry, Jon. I can leave…” she started, turning away. Jon sighed.

“Sansa, wait.” He couldn’t believe he was doing this. “You can stay.” The resigned _I guess_ went unsaid but hung in the air nonetheless.

“Thanks. I promise I’ll be out of here as soon as the storm dies down.”

“I live upstairs. Ghost, c’mon.” Jon pointed to the stairs and the dog bolted up. He waved Sansa in front of him, still unable to believe he invited Sansa Stark to stay at his apartment.

Even with all the history between them, Jon had to admit that she looked good. She’d been in high school last time he’d seen her, but she’d grown up since then. She was a woman now, and Jon couldn’t believe that little sassy Sansa Stark grew into the woman that was before him.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, leaning against his kitchen counter.

“No, no, I’m fine.”

“Okay, well. The bathroom’s over there. That’s my bedroom. I’ve got a pull out couch in the living room.”

“Okay. Thanks. Mind if I use the bathroom?” Jon shrugged as she set her bag off to the side and headed to the bathroom.

He couldn’t help but watch her as she walked away from him. This Sansa seemed different from the one he remembered. He couldn’t remember the Sansa he knew in high school being so polite to him.

* * *

In the bathroom, Sansa called her mum after washing her hands.

“Sansa, please tell me you’re driving in tomorrow,” Catelyn greeted.

“I’ll be getting there tomorrow. I didn’t realize there was a storm until I was already on my way.”

“Where are you? You’re not planning on sleeping in your car, are you?”

“No, no. I’m in Winter Town, actually—”

“Well, that’s not too far. I can send Dad and Robb in the truck. They could probably get there in an hour or so.”

“No, Mum, don’t do that. It’s not safe to drive right now.”

“Well, where are you staying? Please tell me you’re somewhere safe and warm.” _I’m definitely warm,_ Sansa thought, but felt bad immediately after. She was safe too. Her and Jon may not have gotten along in high school—or even liked each other, but he wouldn’t hurt her.

“Do you remember Robb’s friend, Jon Snow? From high school?” Sansa asked, keeping her voice quiet. She didn’t want Jon to hear his name.

“Sansa, I don’t know that that’s such a good idea.” Sansa frowned. Jon may not have been her mother’s favorite person, but Sansa thought Catelyn would’ve preferred her staying with him than in her car or with a stranger.

“Why not?”

“Well…” Catelyn paused, trailing off.

“Mum!”

“Well, he was in the army, remember? I’ve heard he’s come back changed.” Sansa opened her mouth to say like he seemed like the same sullen, broody Jon she’d known in high school, but that wouldn’t be true. There was something different about him. A hardness, a defiance she didn’t remember seeing before.

“Mum, I’m sure I’ll be fine for one night. I’m going to head out as soon as the storm lets up.” Catelyn sighed.

“All right. Call me as soon as you’re on your way again. Love you.”

“I will. Love you too, Mum. See you tomorrow.”

Sansa hung up and shoved the phone back in her pocket before opening the door. She walked back to where the hall opened up into the kitchen and living room, leaning against the opening awkwardly. Jon was curled on the edge of the sofa with a book and a beer.

She really wasn’t sure what to do in this situation. Jon and Robb might have been friends in high school, but she was pretty sure Jon had hated her back then. And he had good reason to.

He and Robb ran in different social circles. Robb had been with the jocks, popular because he was good at sports and good looking. Jon and his few friends were outsiders—they didn’t belong to any social group, didn’t join anything. Just skulked in the halls and sat in the back of classes. Sansa could never understand Jon and Robb’s friendship, but she never really questioned it. Until she started dating Joffery.

For whatever reason, Joffery _hated_ Jon and his friends. He hated them, but loved to torture them. He found enjoyment in it—tripping them, knocking books from their hands, stupid childish things. He liked embarrassing them, making them feel bad—he called Jon a bastard every chance he got. He liked riling up to the point where they, usually Jon, would react physically until Joffery would remind them how that would go. He’d tell his mother and they would be charged with assault if they laid a hand on him.

If that were it, Sansa wouldn’t have blamed Jon for hating her if it was all because of Joffery, but she was pretty sure he hated her before that.

It was then she realized she’d been staring at him, enough for him to feel it. He was staring back at her. Sansa felt heat rise in her face.

“You okay?”

“Oh, erm, yeah. Just spaced out for a second.”

“There’s beer in the fridge. And books down stairs, if you wanna read something. Just put it back when you’re done.”

“Okay. I think I’ll go grab a book, then.” On her way downstairs, Sansa grabbed a beer from the fridge though. She was definitely going to need alcohol to get through the night. She just wished he had something stronger than beer.

* * *

Jon set his book down as soon as he heard her on the stairs. He sighed, tipping his head back on the couch. _It’s going to be a long night,_ he thought, wishing it were later. It was only seven. It was far too early to warrant going to bed and it wasn’t like they could go anywhere—if they could, she shouldn’t be there.

He drained his beer before pushing himself up to retrieve another one. The thought that getting drunk while Sansa Stark was staying with him might be a stupid idea, but they were trapped together in a blizzard and he was already three beers in and past the point of caring.

He hoped they could both get absorbed in their respective books and ignore each other until one of them went to bed. That should be relatively easy for her, considering that that was basically how they got through high school—Sansa ignoring him. And this should be considerably easier, considering she wouldn’t be ignoring all of her boyfriend’s abuse towards him as well.

Jon pushed that thought from his mind. He didn’t think about high school.

Sansa came back up not long later, a book and a beer in her hands. She sat on the other side of the couch from him, angling her body away so that there was as much space possible between them. He rolled his eyes at that, but found himself noticing her hand as she brought the bottle to her mouth.

Her ring finger was bare.

He remembered hearing not long after he’d enlisted that Sansa had been engaged to marry that asshat of a boyfriend from high school. He expected to see a big shiny rock on her finger, or maybe that and a sparkling wedding band, but there was nothing on it.

He couldn’t help but wonder what happened, though he wasn’t all that surprised. She would’ve been a senior when the asshat proposed. Jon had initially thought it would be a shotgun wedding—there was no other reason to get engaged in high school, and really, Jon thought that would be the only reason Sansa would say yes that young. After all, that had been the only reason his mother had said yes.

He doubted that had been the reason now, but he still wondered why she said yes—and why there wasn’t anything on her finger.

“Jon?” _Shit._

“What? Sorry.”

“I just asked how you ended up having a bookshop. How do you go from the army to a bookshop?” Jon stared at her for a second, unable to comprehend why she was asking that. She didn’t care. She’d never cared about him, or his friends. She made that incredibly clear when she said nothing every time her asshat boyfriend decided to torture him or his friends in high school.

He shrugged.

“It belonged to my commanding officer. He, erm. Died in combat. He left it to me. So I had something when I got out,” he said, not quiet looking at her.

“Oh. That’s… that’s nice.” There was something in her voice that made him look at her—something _gentle._ He’d never heard that tone from her before.

Jon opened his mouth, wanting to ask about the ring, but he closed it again. He could to brash, impulsive, and angry, but not unprovoked.

He turned to his book instead. He felt the couch shift as she adjusted and he tried not to look up at her. Jon kept his eyes fixed on his book, though he wasn’t really reading, even though he’d been completely enraptured by it before Ghost started scratching at the door.

He couldn’t focus with Sansa so close to him. With Sansa so close to him with naked fingers.

It was just like high school all over again.

* * *

Sansa couldn’t help but glance at him every few pages. She couldn’t remember the last time she was in this close of vicinity with Jon. She didn’t think she ever had been before, at least not without other people there as well.

Really, she was trying to figure out what was so different about him. She knew there was a hardness from the army, but it wasn’t just that. There was something else too. She just couldn’t figure out what it was.

She thought it was probably because she hadn’t known him all that well to begin with.

When Sansa finished the beer she’d been drinking, she stood to get a new one. On her way back, she took a lap around the room, sipping the beer and inspecting everything.

She might not have known Jon well, but she thought the room fit him. It was very Spartan, aside from the books, and monochromatic.

The only thing in the room she found surprising was the acoustic guitar leaning against the wall. She plucked one of the strings gently.

She saw Jon’s head turned toward her and she plucked the string again.

“I didn’t know you played,” Sansa said to the guitar.

“Robb and I used to talk about starting a band in your basement.” Sansa spun around then, eyebrows raised.

“That was you? I always thought that was Robb playing. He’s always been shit with instruments though, so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“He always just talked about it. Said he’d be the singer. Theon was going to play the drums.”

“I can see that.” Sansa ran her fingers down the curve of the guitar, loving the feeling of the smooth wood beneath her fingertips. “Would you play me something?” She turned to look at him again then. He was fixated on his book. She saw him shrug.

“Haven’t touched it since I got back.” Sansa wasn’t sure why she felt disappointed. Or whatever that other emotion was.

“Oh. Right. Okay.” Sansa sat abruptly on the couch, opening the book again, even though it was only half keeping her interest.

 

It was another beer later that Sansa got up again, looking around the room.

“It’s awfully quiet. Can I turn on some music or something?” she asked, looking for a radio or speaker system. She didn’t see anything though, not even a little portable speaker.

“Sure, but it’d have be on your phone. I don’t have anything on mine.” Again, he didn’t look up from his book when he spoke to her.

Sansa wondered if not making eye contact was one of the _changed_ things about him. She could see that. She was pretty sure that soldiers are taught not to make eye contact. That could definitely be something that carried over, and definitely something her mother would find as odd, a mark of change.

“You don’t have any music on your phone?” Jon shook his head. “What about an iPod?”

“Nope.”

“CDs? Records? …Cassette tapes?”

“No. I don’t have any music, in any form.” Sansa opened her mouth but the sharp tone in his voice stopped whatever she considered saying.

“Oh. Okay. Do you mind if I play something on my phone, then?” Jon shrugged.

“S’long as it’s quiet. And…and not rock.” Sansa looked up from her phone, frowning.

“I thought you liked rock. I remember you wearing all those band t-shirts in high school.” Jon looked at her then, something similar to surprise in his face—kind of how he looked at her when she first showed up down stairs.

“Not anymore.” Sansa nodded, and decided not to say anything. She pulled up an acoustic playlist that was soft and gentle.

“Is this okay?” she asked after the first half of a song played. Jon looked at her again.

“Yeah. It’s fine.” He turned back to his book then and Sansa sighed.

She wished she knew how to talk to him. She wished this wasn’t so awkward. She wished someone else’s shop was open. Staying with a stranger was probably less awkward than this.

* * *

Jon was definitely getting close to drunk, but when he finished his beer he was getting up to another one anyway.

He knew it was stupid.

He knew it wasn’t a good idea.

He knew Sansa was judging him.

But he’d had six beers and caring went out the window around beer number four.

He sat down, opening the new beer. The music she’d put on was still playing quietly. It was the first music he’d listened to since he was in the army, and for the first time it didn’t send him spiraling back there, to that wasteland.

It was all gentle guitar strumming with a rough, low voice singing some melancholy lyrics. It made him want to play again, because this was the type of music he always wanted to create.

Jon stood again, abruptly, striding across the room. He could feel Sansa’s eyes on him, judging, always judging, quietly, like the way she had in high school.

He yanked the guitar out of the stand a little too roughly before sitting on the couch again, the guitar in his lap.

He wasn’t sure if he was going to actually play or not, but it felt good just to hold the guitar.

The possibility of creating something beautiful instead of destroying and creating pain, hurt, and ugliness felt good.

Too good.

His fingers twitched just above the strings.

“I thought you didn’t play anymore?” Sansa asked. He heard the confusion, but he was sure there was probably judgment in there somewhere. She probably jut got really good at hiding that haughty tone in her voice.

“I don’t.” He tried to say it the way he’d said everything else so far tonight—hard, blunt, just this ride of rude because he didn’t want her to ask any more questions. He kept trying to end the conversations but Sansa kept coming back at him with more soft questions, no matter how many times he curtly replied.

This time his words didn’t come out quite so rough. It was hard to be rough when he was holding the guitar. The weight of it, the feel of the wood, transported him back to high school, and he hadn’t been hard and callous back then.

It took him a few seconds to realize that Sansa had paused the music coming from her phone.

He could feel her eyes on him, expecting him to play something, but wasn’t going to. Especially if she expected him to. He wasn’t going to give her that.

Even though she paused her music.

Even though she set her book down.

Even though she was staring at him expectantly, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t see judgment in her eyes.

There was a long pause of awkward silence, him staring at the shiny wood in his hands and Sansa staring at him.

“You don’t have to play, if you don’t want to,” she said. Jon _knew_ her voice was quiet, but it felt loud enough to jar him. He nodded, but didn’t move.

* * *

Sansa studied Jon, the way he sat with his head bent, arms curved around the guitar. There was something beautiful about the sight. Beautiful and broken and lonely.

Sansa understood that. She had also been beautiful and broken and lonely.

Now she was just lonely.

“I get it, you know,” she said softly.

She understood wanting to do something, some part of her old life, but feeling unable to. Like there was just some kind of door keeping her from being able to, but she didn’t know the secret knock.

She had felt the same way with fashion, until Joffery and his mother took it from her. They had destroyed everything she loved about fashion and clothes and herself.

Even four years after Joffery she was just starting to figure out how to reach that part of herself, the little girl she thought had died but had actually just been buried down deep inside herself.

She thought her and Jon might have a lot more in common now.

Sansa didn’t expect Jon to laugh at that, at her saying she got it. She didn’t expect him to laugh, didn’t expect it to fill the room, and didn’t expect it to be bitter and acidic.

She heard him set down the guitar.

“ _You_ get it? _You_ do? Shiny, perfect little Sansa Stark gets it? Gets my PTSD from the army? Gets why I can’t listen to music because no matter what song was playing, I always heard the same one. The one that was playing when the truck hit an IED that killed half my squad and got me sent home. You _get_ all that, do you?”

Sansa vaguely thought that was the most she’d ever heard him speak at once, but anger filled her instead.

“You don’t know me,” she muttered instead of yelling like she wanted to. She rarely yelled anymore. Yelling never got her anywhere when she tried it before. Jon laughed again and even though it was cold it didn’t make the hair on her arms rise like it had with Joffery.

“No? What could’ve happened in perfect Sansa Stark’s life that she _gets_ PTSD? Chipping a nail? Not getting that dress you wanted?” Sansa opened her mouth but no sound came out.

She’d never told anyone, besides her family and her therapist, and they already knew most of it.

She’d never told anyone who didn’t already know.

She couldn’t say it. Jon couldn’t be the first person she told outside her family.

“That’s what I thought,” he muttered. “Silent Sansa, that’s what we used to call you in high school. Back when Joffery would terrorize us and you just stood there silently.” Sansa thought she might start when Jon stood, starting to pace, but she didn’t. Instead, she jumped up as well, blocking his path.

“You know what? I _had_ to stay silent. I tried speaking up once and you know what happened? That was the first time Joffery hit me. I learned to stay quiet after that, but you know what? Staying quiet didn’t stop him,” she said angrily, nearly yelling. Jon stared at her, actually making eye contact. She thought she could drown in his eyes—they were soft and warm and brown.

“Sansa, I’m…”

“No, I don’t want your apology. You don’t get to say shit like that and then apologize, even if you didn’t know. I get that you have PTSD and the army fucked you up but you know what, I had PTSD too and my abusive ex-boyfriend fucked me up, but you don’t see me going around acting like a dick now, do you?” Sansa was ranting, chest heaving. She had taken a step closer to Jon every time she pointed a jabbing finger at him and now they were in each other’s spaces.

She couldn’t remember the last time she was this close to a man who wasn’t her family.

“Sansa…” Jon breathed again. She expected him to take a step back but Sansa found herself lurching forward, bumping her nose against his as she sought out his lips.

Jon froze under her hands and Sansa started to back away but then she felt his hands warm on her back, pulling her closer.

They kissed hungrily, greedily, and Sansa loved it.

* * *

 

“Sansa? Are you on your way?” Catelyn asked on the other side of the phone.

“Yeah, yeah, I am. I’ll be there in like forty-five minutes. I just wanted to give you a heads up I’m bringing someone with me.”

“Oh? You are?”

“Yeah. Jon.” She turned to smile at him, and he smiled bashfully back, the way he had been since last night. Sansa felt butterflies like she thought she would never feel again.

Maybe she wasn’t so fucked up after all.


End file.
